And everything goes black.
Chapter 53
Maksim
Exile is almost quiet in the mornings.
No bass shaking the walls. No drunks bleeding money across the floor. Just low voices, untouched glasses of water, coffee gone bitter in paper cups, and the men who matter already gathered around the table before the city is fully awake.
Sunlight cuts through the high windows in weak gray bars, catching smoke that never really leaves this place no matter how many times the vents run.
I take my seat at the head of the table we pull out for meetings.
Vaska is on my right, one elbow braced on the armrest, expression carved from stone. Pietro has a laptop open already, screen throwing pale light across his face. Dimitri stands near the end of the table instead of sitting, arms folded, impatient energy coming off him in waves. Six of my other men are spread along the wall, listening more than speaking.
Demyan glances toward the empty chair near mine.
“Where’s Ayla?”
I don’t look up from the file Pietro slid in front of me. “Out with the wives.”
A beat.
Then Dimitri snorts. “She should be here.”
That gets a quiet hum of agreement from one of the others.
I finally lift my eyes.
Dimitri shrugs, unbothered. “What? She’d rather be here than doing whatever the fuck they’re doing.”
“She’d probably find Kaya quicker than half of you,” Vaska mutters.
A few mouths twitch.
I ignore that and look at Pietro. “Talk.”
Pietro taps a key, turning the laptop slightly so I can see the map on the screen. “We’ve narrowed Gabriel’s movements to three possible locations. None are confirmed. One warehouse on the outskirts, one abandoned shipping lot, and one townhouse just outside his usual territory, held under an LLC that traces back to one of his shell companies. “
“Patterns?” I ask.
“Rotating vehicles. Burners. Minimal foot traffic. Nothing solid enough yet to call it a guaranteed hit.”
Ivan speaks. “Enough for a sweep.”
“Not enough for me,” I say.
Silence settles again.
I flip the page in front of me. “Arsen?”
That answer comes from Vaska.
“Nothing current.” His voice is flat. “Last credible sighting was months ago. After that, smoke.”
My jaw tightens.
Pietro nods once toward the laptop. “The Amatos are still working that side. Ports, customs ghosts, shell movement, old safehouses. Nothing solid yet “
